


Where the Heart Is (The Eightfold Path is a Circuitous Route Home Remix)

by who_la_hoop



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-16
Updated: 2010-05-16
Packaged: 2017-10-09 11:45:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/who_la_hoop/pseuds/who_la_hoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sanzo's already home; he just hasn't realised it yet. (Or, in which Goku is a pest, an irritant, and a general drain on the expenses; Sanzo is compared - favourably - to a giant meatbun; and the journey continues ever on).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Heart Is (The Eightfold Path is a Circuitous Route Home Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inksheddings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inksheddings/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Almost Home](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/758) by inksheddings. 



> "The Buddhist Noble Eightfold Path describes the way to the end of suffering. It is a practical guideline to ethical and mental development with the goal of freeing the individual from attachments and delusions; and it finally leads to understanding the truth about all things. The eight aspects of the path are not to be understood as a sequence of single steps, instead they are highly interdependent principles that have to be seen in relationship with each other."
> 
> The Genjo Sanzo Eightfold Path, however, is rather more sacrilegious, like the man himself :D
> 
> I am grateful to thebigview.com/buddhism for its straightforward explanations of the Path, which I have shamelessly paraphrased and nicked quotes from (above, and the quotes that head each section of the story).
> 
> I am also grateful to inksheddings, who is both all kinds of awesome and someone whose writing I admire tremendously. Quite apart from the fic I remixed, I shamelessly nicked from _her_ the idea of Goku keeping a spare pack of smokes for Sanzo, just in case he ran out: an idea too cute not to pilfer.
> 
> inksheddings, I know this isn't technically a gift fic, but it totally is as far as I'm concerned :D I really hope you like it!

Right View

_ . . . is the beginning and end of the path; it simply means to see and to understand things as they are._

 

When Sanzo woke up that morning – viciously glad to discover that he was still alive, even if there was a good chance he'd have to shoot Gojyo in the head to stop him going on about just how badly Sanzo-_sama_ had got his ass kicked by Ukoku – it was to find himself acting as futon to a warm, heavy, malodorous, insufferable idiot.

So, same old, same old.

Sanzo felt a knot inside him loosen infinitesimally. Maybe he wouldn't have to shoot Gojyo in the head today to make himself feel better after all. Maybe he could settle for a flesh wound.

Right now, however, his wounds hurt like a bitch. He needed a smoke, a piss, and a shower – preferably in that order, and preferably without having to move an inch. He shifted uncomfortably and felt his skin tighten and pull against his clothes. The unpleasant effect of dried blood, without even the dubious satisfaction of knowing at least it wasn't his own. Ugh. Even his _eyelashes_ felt unclean. But before he could do anything, he had to deal with his most immediate problem: he needed the fucking monkey to get the fuck off his fucking _broken ribs_.

So he said, quite calmly and politely, in his view, "Get the hell off me, shit for brains," and waited for it to do the trick. In the mornings, what little intelligence Goku had was replaced by stomach, but even _he_, Sanzo thought tetchily, wasn't moronic enough to obey a direct command when Sanzo was in such an obviously towering bad mood.

Just because Sanzo hadn't . . . Just because he'd . . . Just because he'd _been away_ for a while, it didn't mean that things were going to be different. He was determined that they wouldn't be different. And that in particular meant maintaining normal – if anything so annoying to the soul could _be_ described as normal – relations with a certain pest.

Goku cracked open an eyelid after a long, lazy moment and squinted at him, evidently completely disorientated. Sanzo had no sympathy for him. If Goku decided that sleeping close enough that he woke to a view up Sanzo's nostril was the way to go, he deserved everything he got. But then Goku started to grin, his eyes widening. His grin just kept on going and going, until his whole face was shining.

Sanzo found it surprisingly, and irritatingly, difficult to meet Goku's open, glowing gaze.

"Wow, Sanzo!" Goku said. And then, when Sanzo didn't reply: "Sanzo? Sanzo! Sanzoooo. I'm sooooo h—"

Sanzo snorted, feeling on safer ground. Dealing with a hungry monkey was practically like second nature to him now, though he didn't know what he'd done to deserve _that_. "Get _off_ me . . ." he interrupted, his words trailing off as he replayed what had actually come out of Goku's mouth.

"Aww, I don't wanna," Goku said, moving far enough away that the pressure on Sanzo's ribs lessened, but not enough that he could be described as anything other than uncomfortably close.

Goku hadn't said 'I'm hungry', as Sanzo had expected, but 'I'm happy'. I'm _sooooo_ happy, Sanzo's traitorous brain informed him, dwelling on it in excruciating detail.

So . . . not quite back to normal then.

Sanzo felt a sort of insidious, wet terror slither through his insides, although he couldn't have said precisely _why_, and he would have pistol-whipped anyone dumb enough to ask.

"Even though I'm so hungry, I feel like I'm gonna die," Goku added.

It was too late, however, to put Sanzo back on an even keel. He fixed Goku with a stern gaze – a difficult feat, given that their noses were almost touching – and suspected that he deserved this. This . . . whatever it was. But that didn't mean he deserved it _now_. He deserved it when he was healed, and fed, and clean, and armed with fan and gun and the distracting influence of two dozen meatbuns. Then, possibly, he might be able to handle Goku without . . . awkwardness. It didn't help his peace of mind that the awkwardness would be, no doubt, entirely on his side. "Go and help Hakkai make breakfast before I shoot you," he said levelly.

"Ah, Sanzo, I'm glad you're awake," Hakkai said, his voice wafting across from the other side of the fire. "But there isn't any breakfast, I'm afraid. If Gojyo manages to forage anything then –" Sanzo could almost _hear_ him shudder – "I might be able to concoct something edible, but I'm afraid that's the best we can look forward to for now."

"There's gotta be _somethin'_ to eat," Goku complained. His voice was muffled against Sanzo's hair, his breath warm and ticklish. "There's no way Gojyo'll manage to actually find anything edible out on this rock. What about tins of stuff?"

"I'm afraid we're out of supplies, Goku," Hakkai said, sounding even more apologetic.

Before Goku could speak again, and do funny things to Sanzo's nerves, Sanzo said tersely, "You won't die if you miss breakfast, idiot."

Goku made a bereaved sound. And then laughed, suddenly and cheerfully, obviously struck by an amusing thought. "The stupid kappa went by himself? Without moanin' loud enough to wake us all up?"

"Ah," Hakkai said. "Well."

There was an uncomfortable pause. Sanzo, trying not to grit his teeth, said, "Spit it out."

Hakkai cleared his throat. "When I attempted to get up, I fear I fainted on Gojyo. I think I accidentally scared him into compliance," he said, a faint smile in his voice. "I, ah, may have expended a little too much chi in keeping us all alive yesterday," he added.

And by 'us all', Sanzo thought crossly, you really mean _me_, don't you? But instead of anything more constructive, "Tch," came out of his mouth.

"Perhaps you could bear that in mind," Hakkai said with cutting politeness, "next time you decide to take on someone stronger than all of us put together by yourself." He didn't add, "I expected such inconsiderate, irrational behaviour from Goku or Gojyo, but not from _you_," but Sanzo could taste the words – irritatingly judgemental, and even more irritatingly accurate – on the air.

"I need a cigarette," Sanzo announced, after a small, passive-aggressive pause.

"Go right ahead, if you have any on you," Hakkai said mildly.

Sanzo didn't. "And I need a wash," he continued, as if Hakkai hadn't spoken.

"If you can find some water, I'd be pleased to hear it," Hakkai said. And sniffed meaningfully. Sanzo didn't have to crane his neck to peer over at Hakkai to feel his eyes on him, scanning his soiled clothing.

And so, before Hakkai could start on about laundry, and how blood was the most difficult stain to remove, and did the traditional Sanzo garb really _have_ to be white, Sanzo interrupted with: "And I need a piss."

"I trust you can manage that without my assistance?" Hakkai inquired politely.

Sanzo decided to pretend that hadn't been a question. Moreover, he decided to ignore the signals that his brain was frantically sending him: namely, that it wasn't sure he could get up without falling back down on his ass. Pride was pride, but unfortunately _it_ didn't have control over his legs, his battered body did. He didn't doubt that Hakkai had healed anything that had threatened to kill him . . . but bruises and cracked bones merely hurt like a sonofabitch. Which wasn't much of a consolation, Sanzo thought sourly.

"What's up with Princess?" Gojyo said, stamping into the makeshift camp, suspiciously empty-handed. "Waiting for his attendants to see to his _toilette_?"

"Fancy words from a dead man," Sanzo said levelly, finding to his relief that at least his gun arm worked OK, although all his muscles twinged and complained.

Gojyo leapt and twirled like a clumsy ballerina as Sanzo let loose a round of ammo. "What the fuck's wrong with you?" he yelled, clutching at his head.

Sanzo was pleased to see that a chunk of hair was floating free. "You needed a haircut," he said, "and I was pleased to oblige."

"Now, now, children," Hakkai interrupted smoothly. "Didn't you have any luck, Gojyo?"

Gojyo shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair, his forehead puckered into a frown. "Hey, Baldy, just because you're losing your hair, doesn't mean you have to inflict it on me too," he said. And jumped ten feet in the air, letting out a piercing yell, when another bullet flew past his head. "My _cheek_, you shitty monk, you grazed my _cheek_," he protested, clutching at his face. But then, when he caught sight of Hakkai's face, he subsided into mutters too low for Sanzo to hear.

"Hey, Hakkai, if we try to eat Gojyo, will he fight back, d'you think?" Goku said interestedly, rising up on to an elbow at Sanzo's side and staring at the 'meal'.

"I don't know," Hakkai said interestedly, while Gojyo spluttered and attempted to look menacing. "Given that he did go out for food, and has failed us all, perhaps he'll submit willingly for the good of the rest of us?"

"Whaddya think, Sanzo?" Goku asked, turning to look at him, which meant that Sanzo ended up practically with a face full of monkey.

Sanzo hadn't exactly _forgotten_ that Goku was still lying snuggled up next to him. Forgetting about Goku just wasn't a viable option to him – it never had been. Either he was there, whining, or bouncing, or being generally loud and enthusiastic in a way that never failed to irritate him . . . or he _wasn't_ there – in which case Sanzo found himself worrying about where he'd snuck off to and what mischief he was up to. While back at Chang'an it usually hadn't taken long for a monk to drag him into Sanzo's quarters, one hand wrapped firmly in the neck of Goku's top, and the other brandishing a formerly sacred untouchable object that Goku had, of course, touched, on the road it often seemed to Sanzo that the only Goku-free time he had was when he was asleep – and even then, it wasn't precisely Goku-free. Not with the way that Goku had of crossing rooms in his sleep, simply in order – it seemed to Sanzo – to crush Sanzo with his heavy limbs and throw a hand, chokingly, over his throat, or inadvertently stick a finger in his ear.

The silence, when he'd thought that Goku was . . .

His fury at himself for thinking something so pathetic drove him up into a seated position, and he only narrowly avoided headbutting the object of his . . . whatever. Running a hand through his hair, and patting himself down in the vain hope that he might discover a previously elusive packet of smokes, he found himself completely undistracted by the pain of his beat-up muscles.

The silence, when he'd thought Goku was dead, for those brief, horrifying moments, had been _deafening_.

"Ow!" Goku said, flailing and looking hard-done-by. "What was _that_ for? I didn't _do_ anything!"

Sanzo slipped his fan back into his sleeve, but it hadn't helped him feel any less aggrieved. "I'd rather starve than eat . . . that," he pronounced, glaring at Gojyo in preference to looking at Goku's hurt expression for a moment longer. "Lecherous stupidity might be catching."

"We need to get you _somethin'_ to eat though," Goku said seriously, over the top of the sound of Gojyo exploding. "You're skin 'n bones."

The silence that followed had a stunned quality.

"If anyone agrees with him, they're a dead man," Sanzo said, trying not to twitch.

"Well," Hakkai said brightly, elbowing Gojyo hard when he opened his mouth to speak. Gojyo shut it quickly, but his shoulders were shaking with what looked suspiciously like barely-suppressed laughter.

Sanzo tried his very best to ignore Gojyo. And Hakkai. And _especially_ Goku. He was rapidly running out of patience, and even he would concede that his store was never very large on the best of days.

"Might I suggest that as we have no food, no water, and no clean clothing, we resume our travels as soon as possible, in order to remedy this unfortunate situation?" Hakkai asked.

Goku, as if galvanised by the idea of food, however far away, stretched widely – nearly putting Sanzo's eye out in the process – and sprang to his feet. But Sanzo's biting comment about _personal space_ froze on his lips when unexpected hands shoved themselves under Sanzo's armpits and _heaved_.

It wasn't an elegant way to rise, was Sanzo's first thought, when he'd taken a few sharp breaths and assessed that although things hurt, he could probably pull off pretending they didn't, if only his legs didn't dither too much and give him away. But at least Goku's technique had the dubious merits of being effective.

"Man, I _ache_," Goku said cheerfully, fastening himself to Sanzo, Sanzo rather thought, like some sort of invasive weed. Knotweed, that was Goku. You dug it up, hoping you'd dealt with the problem, but it just kept flourishing, getting bigger and stronger and more difficult to deal with by the day. There was probably a life lesson or a moral in that, but he damned well didn't want to know what it was. He was getting a headache.

"Stop pawing at me," Sanzo made himself say.

Goku – arm round Sanzo's waist – looked up at him and grinned. "C'mon," he said, practically quick marching them off into a thick patch of half-dead trees, his arm tightening uncomfortably – but supportively – when Sanzo, to his chagrin, couldn't suppress a momentary wobble.

Sanzo briefly saw red when he thought he heard Gojyo call out, "Upsy-daisy!" from behind him, but then Goku waved a packet of Marlboros in front of his eyes and Sanzo suddenly felt compassionate and calm towards his fellow man.

"I got 'em a while back," Goku said, apparently without shame. "Just in case you ever ran out." He passed them over and released his grip on Sanzo's waist, taking a few steps away and leaning up against a tree.

"Hmm," Sanzo said as he stowed them safely away, feeling something tighten and coil in his insides at the thought, but dismissing it. He could puzzle out what the fuck was so discomforting about Goku's consideration later. He looked around distastefully and wished for clean porcelain and running water. It failed to arrive however, so, turning his back on Goku and hoicking up his robes, he did his business with all due speed.

When he turned around, he was disconcerted to see that Goku was grinning at him. "What?" he said, not really wanting an answer. Thankful that his legs now seemed to be obeying direct orders, he began to walk back to camp – at speed.

"Aw, wait up, Sanzo," Goku said, easily catching up with him. "I just wanted to tell you I'm happy we caught up with you."

Sanzo could feel the blood rush to his head. It wasn't blushing, precisely. At least, it felt like something more dangerous to the health. "You already did," he snapped.

But Goku's easy smile didn't falter. "I didn't worry 'bout whether we would though," he said.

Sanzo bit the inside of his cheek and didn't say anything, just turned to focus on the not-so-distant forms of Hakkai, Gojyo and Jeep. Just a few more paces and he'd be there, and then they'd be on their way, on the fucking everlasting journey. If the Three Aspects decided he was going on another mission, when this whole thing was over, he decided he'd shoot them rather than accept, and to hell with the consequences.

"There's no way you'd leave me behind forever," Goku said – lightly, confidently, as if he was just talking about the weather. "No matter what, we'd find each other again, right?"

It would have been cruel – and a lie – to deny it, but Sanzo found himself almost paralysed with fear at the idea of affirming Goku's words. What the hell was wrong with him, he thought, trying to get a grip. This was ridiculous. This was _Goku_. But . . .

Sanzo reached for a cigarette and his lighter, with hands that definitely didn't shake. "Like I'd ever manage to get rid of you, brat," he said, lighting up and taking a long, deep drag. _Bliss_. "Couldn't do it even if I tried," he added for good measure.

Goku's grin, when Sanzo turned to look him in the eye, was the same as ever: bright and irrepressible. But Sanzo, as he reclaimed his rightful place in Jeep's front seat, and settled back into the usual, wearying routine of yelling at Gojyo and Goku to stop fighting or suffer the consequences, couldn't help but think – at the back of his mind, where he knew it would stick and torment him until he turned towards it and examined it dispassionately – that there was something unsettlingly different between himself and Goku. Was it that Goku had saved him from Ukoku's Muten sutra? Sanzo, closing his eyes and hoping for the oblivion of sleep, couldn't help but gloomily think that it wouldn't be anything so simple.

 

* * * * * 

 

Right Livelihood

_ . . . is earning one's living in a righteous way that harms no other living beings._

If anyone had asked Sanzo what his number one irritant was these days, he'd have had just one answer for them. _Delays_. Of all the things that pissed him off – lack of privacy being high on his list, along with a lingering feeling that he now knew the three morons he was travelling with far too well for his tastes – his knowledge that the journey was taking about ten times longer than it needed to, and thus keeping him away from not only home comforts, but his responsibilities at Keiun Temple, grated the worst.

It wasn't that he particularly relished his duties; the idea that he was some kind of sacred, holy man had always struck Sanzo as ludicrous, and he couldn't have cared less if the monks were inconvenienced by his absence or not. But that wasn't the point. He'd given his word that he'd take care of things there; being absent for so long was making him twitchy.

Besides, there was nothing more irritating than Kougaiji and his stupid crew popping up every five minutes, going back west, and then _fucking popping back up again_. If _they_ could travel without getting stuck for days on end in every single shitty little town they passed, then why couldn't he? He couldn't even put it down to his companions being incompetent . . . at least, not most of the time. Each day brought an increased number of crazed youkai, who had to be converted into corpses before the journey could be continued; basic statistics suggested that four men made shorter work of the job than one alone.

But despite Sanzo's sheer frustration with his party's slow, unsteady progress, there was one thing that was non-negotiable: one hour of peace a day. Though it wasn't peace, precisely – peace from his companions, yes, but replaced by something infinitely worse: himself.

From the get-go, meditation had pissed Sanzo off worse than anything. Worse than sweeping the temple. Worse than tidying up after his lazy, good-for-nothing master. Worse than the jealousy of the other monks and his fellow students, who'd thought he was up his own ass just because his master had paid more attention to him than to them. They'd never got it; his master had enjoyed his company because he'd treated him like a human, not a Sanzo.

And hadn't _that_ come back to bite him on the ass.

But by now he kind of figured that that was part of the point of meditation: spending time in your own head, scrutinising your own thoughts dispassionately as they itched and niggled at you in frustrating waves, was part of the price of being alive while his master was dead. So each day he sat – or stood, sometimes with a cigarette in hand, because sitting in the lotus position wasn't possible in Jeep, comfortable on a bed, or hygienic in the street outside a poxy hotel and he would have thought himself pathetic if he'd let the lack of a cushion stop him from following in his master's footsteps – and forced himself into the boredom that was his own brain.

The problem was that while meditation was intended to allow a man to make sense of his experiences, recently all it was doing to Sanzo was making him want to kick things. It was like he'd regressed to being a novice, when meditation tended to cycle around four obsessions: limbs, and their tendency to go dead; the next meal, and what form it would take; how amazingly _boring_ it was just sitting still and doing nothing; and, finally, _every little thing you didn't want to think, ever_.

For those grim weeks when he'd left his companions, consumed by revenge and his single-minded obsession with finding Ukoku and _making him pay_ for what he'd done to Goku, Sanzo'd had to force himself to continue his usual practice: every time he sat down and focused on his breathing, his brain presented him with Goku's lifeless corpse and his own inability to do anything but run away, blinded by rage and futility.

But now . . .

Sanzo stared at the scrubby patch of trees in front of him, shifting from butt cheek to butt cheek and trying to acknowledge that _yes_ he was fucking _starving_, but he could let it wash over him in favour of other, more enlightening, thoughts. He was pissed off. Goku was alive, he was back with his companions, and the journey was back on track, and yet his mind was still a swirl of incoherence. _Muichi motsu_. Non-attachment. Sanzo strained for his former certainty – his rock-solid belief that he'd known what the teaching had meant, and how to live his life by it – but it was like trying to grasp smoke.

There were many things in life that Sanzo wasn't certain of, but until now his own mind had _not_ been one of them.

Grimly, trying not to panic, Sanzo turned towards the pain, scrutinised it, and concluded . . . hell if _he_ knew what to do about it.

When Hakkai cleared his throat, breaking Sanzo's concentration, he almost reached for his gun – but then he noticed that the sun was low in the sky, the air already growing chill with the onset of dusk. He'd been sitting on his ass for the whole afternoon.

Another fucking delay.

Sanzo thought he deserved what would be his inevitable punishment: endless moaning and repetitions of "I'm huuuuuungry," from the monkey.

He was surprised to find that it felt worse that Goku was quiet and uncomplaining, his huge eyes strangely sympathetic, until eventually Gojyo provoked him into something more like his usual – loud – self, and the wearying routine of petty squabbling and minor violence began again.

* * * 

It took two days for them to reach somewhere approaching civilisation. Sanzo couldn't help but feel glad – despite the drawbridge suggesting that they were walking into yet another fucking delay to the journey. They hadn't eaten in all that time, and even Hakkai's protestations had sounded forced – with an alarmingly wistful undertone – when Gojyo had suggested that chowing down barbecued dead dude was better than _being_ a dead dude, after the last lot of youkai had been despatched to a better place (better, in that they didn't have to deal with Sanzo's bad mood, Gojyo had added, while _he_ still did).

His gun was adequate in demanding silence, Sanzo reflected, though it had lost a little of its efficacy due to overuse of late. But he had hopes that a good meal, a wash, and a bed that wasn't Jeep or the ground would at least allow him to unwind enough that he'd merely be a ball of massive irritation, rather than a ball of white-hot rage.

Unfortunately, however, they didn't.

* * * 

Two weeks later, Sanzo was so tired he wanted to stab something. Leaving China and entering India had made little difference to his state of mind, or to the speed of the journey: now that they were closer, they travelled even more slowly. The Sanzo party was made more obviously unwelcome, and food and luxuries became scarcer as the youkai gangs increased in number. But that wasn't the problem.

The problem was Goku.

Or rather, Sanzo thought tetchily as he chain-smoked outside the latest small, cramped hotel until his mouth tasted foul and his throat felt scratchy, it was that there was something different about Goku – or perhaps about himself, so that it was only now that he'd noticed it – and he couldn't work out what the fuck it was.

Meditation now only served to make Sanzo's pulse rise; every time he shut his eyes, all he could see was the monkey. Sometimes he was dead; sometimes he was alive and grinning. Either way, it was always _him_. Sanzo felt a kind of despair growing in him. He supposed that it had _always_ been him. Ever since he'd heard Goku's insistent, persistent voice in his head – so sad and lonely and downright _infuriating_ – and had released him from his cage, Goku had been a millstone around his neck.

The realisation that if the millstone was taken away, Sanzo would destroy everything in his path to get it back, was . . .

There was nothing – no words, no action – that could Sanzo could use to express quite how _fucking annoying_ that was.

When he closed his eyes, he saw monkey; when he opened his eyes, he saw monkey; when he dreamed, he saw monkey.

It was only inevitable, really, the next morning, when Goku had pissed off somewhere – delaying the journey even further – and finally returned, licking his lips and looking faintly guilty, that instead of telling him, "Next time, we'll leave without you," he found himself snapping out, "Where the fuck have you been? You've been so long I thought you were dead." He'd intended it as a throwaway insult, but somehow it came out invested with meaning he hadn't intended – an emphasis on the word _dead_, which rang out into the silence that followed it.

Goku blinked, an odd uncertainty flickering across his face, Sanzo noticed before he glared back down at his newspaper.

"Gojyo, we need to stock up on provisions before we set off," Hakkai said, as if Sanzo hadn't said anything, pushing his chair away from the table and standing up smoothly.

"Goku can come along to carr—" Gojyo started.

"Just you will be fine," Hakkai interrupted calmly.

It was embarrassingly obvious what Hakkai was up to, Sanzo thought, glaring even harder at his paper. He heard Hakkai and Gojyo leave. He didn't hear Goku sit down.

He turned a page, not having read a word, before annoyance overcame any lingering sense of embarrassment and he looked over at Goku.

Goku was still standing there, his face a picture of uncertainty.

Sanzo could feel a band of tension tighten around his brow. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "What?" he snapped.

"I . . ." Goku started.

Was it too much to ask, Sanzo thought wearily, that Goku not understand what Sanzo had – entirely without _meaning_ to – referred to?

Yes, it probably was.

Goku shifted from foot to foot. "I didn't mean to nearly die," he said, smiling anxiously. "I didn't see him attack . . . You didn't spend all that time thinkin' that I was a gonner . . . did you?"

Since when had the monkey been so quick on the uptake? No, Sanzo _hadn't_ spent all the time they'd been apart thinking that Goku had been dead – when he'd felt the terrifying chi of Goku's youkai release, he'd gone back; he'd needed to be _certain_, or his doubts would have driven him beyond insanity and out the other side – but that wasn't the point. Those moments when he'd thought Goku dying . . . and had known the inevitability of his death . . . It had been like being thirteen and helpless, as he'd watched his master die, all over again.

"I woulda tried to call out to you – you know, in my heart, like I did when I was younger – but I didn't think you'd want me to," Goku added with an air of defiance. "'Sides, you left me behind and I wasn't sure why. I didn't wanna make you any madder at me than you already were."

In the silence that followed, Goku's cheeks flushed red, but his expression was so sincere that Sanzo wanted to shoot something – preferably himself, as it was the only sure way to end this embarrassment. The only sign that Goku might be as uncomfortable as he was, Sanzo noticed, was that while his arms hung loosely by his sides, his fingers had curled into tight fists.

"Was . . . that wrong of me?" Goku asked finally. "Sanzo?"

What was wrong, Sanzo thought, briefly closing his eyes and wishing that he were hundreds of miles away – preferably fixing the fucking minus wave, and ensuring that the assholes who'd put him in this situation felt properly sorry about it for the rest of their short existences – was that he appeared to have no clue about anything any more.

When Sanzo reopened his eyes and looked over at Goku, the flush had travelled down Goku's neck, splotchy red against the tan of his skin. Goku reached a hand up to scratch, uncertainly, through his hair. He smiled, again uncertainly. "I ain't a kid any more," he said, looking directly into Sanzo's eyes. "But . . ." He shrugged and smiled anxiously, pleadingly. "I can't read your mind, Sanzo. I dunno what you want me to say!"

His eyes were clear, golden, sincere. Sanzo felt a pathetic urge to ask him for forgiveness – though forgiveness for what, he had no fucking clue. It was like being a kid again; though he'd never really felt like a kid, even back then.

"I don't want you to say anything, idiot," Sanzo said, attempting to pull himself together. "Just don't do it again," he added, irrationally, trying not to notice when Goku's brow creased and his hand travelled down from his hair to rub, hesitantly, at his neck. He folded up his paper and rose, intending to walk past Goku and out to the waiting Jeep.

"Hey, Sanzo?" Goku said, when Sanzo came level with him.

Sanzo raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Goku took a step closer, bridging the gap between them and wrapping his arms tight around Sanzo's neck, shoving his head hard into the gap between head and shoulder.

It wasn't precisely a hug; it was more an affirmation that Goku was . . . Goku. All lean hard muscle, warm and solid against Sanzo's body. His fingers, digging awkwardly into Sanzo's back, clung hard enough to hurt.

He was still short, still an idiot, still younger and, despite his strength, still bizarrely vulnerable. But – and it took Sanzo's breath away, in a horrible, uncomfortable realisation – Sanzo found himself wanting to relax into the hold, to let it be an embrace, a pleasurable thing, rather than a hard, painful reminder that Goku was someone he could easily lose. Almost _had_.

"Sanzo, I—" Goku started, and that was enough to make Sanzo shove him away. Who knew what the fuck he'd say?

"Let's get going," Sanzo said. "We've wasted enough time this morning already."

Goku stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. And then beamed at Sanzo, his whole face lighting up. "Yeah!" he said. "I can't wait to get further into India. It's so weird and different already, you know? Travelin' is fun."

"Hn," Sanzo said, fishing out a cigarette and his lighter. "Fun, eh?"

They walked out into the sunshine together. "Yeah, travelin' with you . . . I wouldn't wanna be anywhere else," Goku said, screwing up his eyes and peering out into the distance. "Gojyo, you bastard kappa, get your dirty boots off my seat!" he yelled, dashing off towards Jeep and the red-haired object of his ire.

The sounds of fighting and insults filled the air.

Sanzo paused to light his cigarette. Then he strode purposefully towards the mayhem, gun in hand, pleased by the sudden frozen silence. "Let's get going," he said to Hakkai.

"Of course," Hakkai said politely, as if it hadn't been Sanzo and his sudden descent into madness that had held them up, and the journey began again – the same as ever, and yet so different that whenever Sanzo thought about it, he found himself unable to remember the correct way to breathe.

* * * 

It didn't get any better. Of course, Sanzo hadn't really _expected_ it to get any better. That wasn't the way that the world worked. In his experience, when shit got thrown at you, it just stuck there, stinking, until you washed it the fuck off. Ignoring it didn't make it go away; it just meant that you stunk, and everyone around you knew it.

Sanzo had never particularly cared if the way he acted pissed other people off; if they didn't like the way he was, they were quite free to leave him alone and go about their own business, rather than stick around, complaining. He was answerable to no one except himself.

Except . . . right now he was pissing _himself_ off. He wasn't a kid, who didn't know what he was doing or what he was doing it for. Not any more. He was Genjo Sanzo, the thirty-first of China, and he had a job to do – a job that he was currently compromising, because trying to ignore the shit that had happened was wreaking havoc with his concentration. Hell, the day before he'd nearly been gutted by a half-witted youkai with the oh-so-cunning tactic of attacking from behind, just because Goku had . . . Bollocks if he knew. All he remembered was that he'd noticed Goku, lost his train of thought, and only quick action from a curse-spouting Gojyo had saved him from being introduced to his innards. Even Hakkai had felt moved to remark, after the event – in that quiet, friendly manner that was more unnerving than any insult could ever be – that perhaps Sanzo might like to pull himself together, if he'd like them all to reach their destination alive.

The problem was, Sanzo thought as he smoked yet another cigarette – standing outside yet another cramped, inhospitable lodging house, in yet another city barricaded against youkai – that he genuinely didn't know what the fuck his problem was. How could he deal with it without knowing that, at the very least?

 

* * * * * 

 

Right Effort

_ . . . is preventing the arising of unarisen unwholesome states and abandoning unwholesome states that have already risen_

 

The problem with knowing what your problem was, Sanzo thought grimly a couple of weeks later, when the universe had seen fit to send him a clue, was that once you _did_ know, you wished you were living in ignorance again, no matter how crappy that had been.

Sanzo lit a cigarette and took a long, deep drag on it, blowing the smoke out into the pitch-black sky. He'd woken a couple of hours ago, disturbed by an irritating banging noise, and had lain awake, listening to Goku's chainsaw-like snores, for about as long as he could bear – five minutes, tops – before pulling his jeans on and heading outside for a smoke. Except, once he'd gotten outside the room, the banging had started again – accompanied by low, unmistakable groans and murmurs.

Sanzo had stopped for a moment, frozen in his path.

After he'd recovered his composure, he'd considered, and then dismissed, the idea that he should just leave them to it. Who cared if they were embarrassed? They should have thought about that before they'd started, and taken care to keep the fucking noise down. He couldn't care less if Gojyo and Hakkai were screwing; that was their business, not his. He _did_ care, however, if they made a racket and woke him up. He'd banged on the door. "Shut the hell up," he'd snapped.

There'd been a short silence – and then a sort of muffled explosion, which Sanzo had presumed was Hakkai smothering Gojyo's retort with a pillow. "Our apologies," Hakkai had called, his voice composed. "We will endeavour to keep the noise down."

Sanzo had rolled his eyes at the door and continued on his way outside, deeply troubled. What troubled him however – and would go on to trouble him for the rest of his life, he thought sourly – was nothing to do with those two perverts and their nocturnal activities. It was that, as soon as he'd realised what they were up to, he'd thought . . .

Ugh. Sanzo closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. He'd thought: _at least Hakkai and Gojyo are taking their frustrations out on each other, for if either of those two bastards had even _considered_ touching Goku, he'd have peppered their dick so full of holes that they'd never piss straight again, let alone get it up._

It was one of those thoughts, Sanzo thought, that once you'd had it, you _couldn't make it go the fuck away_ – not only because it was true, but because the implications of what _else_ it could mean were as disturbing as get all out.

Sanzo was celibate – if a continuing state of virginity was celibacy, for he sure as hell wasn't holding on to his cherry to keep himself pure or because, as a holy man, it was expected of him – but that didn't mean his dick was in any danger of dropping off from disuse, or whatever crap Gojyo sometimes spouted. He was well acquainted with his right hand, although less so these days, now that privacy had become a rarity; his physical urges were rarely greater than his extreme revulsion at the thought of being caught in the act.

Once, several years ago, it had crossed his mind to wonder if the bastards who'd mistaken him for a pretty, innocent girl, back when he was just a child, and had tried to rape him before he'd shot their brains out, had metaphorically screwed him over in that department – before concluding, the _hell_ they had. If he'd seriously thought that that held water, he'd have gone out and worked his way through an entire brothel, just to prove himself wrong.

Sanzo smoked his current cigarette down to the filter and lit up another. No, he thought, there were just two reasons why he hadn't indulged: the thought of sharing such intimacy with a stranger was not only distasteful, but just plain _embarrassing_ . . . but the idea of being so openly vulnerable with one of the idiots he'd already met was even more so.

It was much better, Sanzo thought, that his vices – his burdens – remain of the solo type: by smoking, only his own karma took on a stain. By fucking, he couldn't prevent himself from dragging someone else down into the depths alongside him.

He took a deep breath and let it out, flicking away the ash that threatened to land on his shoes and screwing his eyes tight shut against the headache that tugged at his brain. Lately, he thought, he hadn't been certain about much – except, perhaps, that he was pissed off with life in general and wanted to share his pain about. But there was _one_ thing he still felt completely certain about: he wasn't a coward. So he opened his eyes, stared up at the night sky – sprinkled with stars – and opened himself up to the possibility that the reason the thought of Goku getting laid made him want to stab things was a simple one: _no one_ was allowed to touch his monkey except him.

Simple, it might be; that didn't make it any less appalling.

Sanzo worked his way through his pack of smokes, and when he hit his final one, he realised, to his disgust, that he was drawing it out, so he wouldn't have to go back inside. And it was that unaccustomed feeling of dread, as he walked back down the hallway and opened the door to the room he shared with Goku (because like _hell_ was he standing out in the cold all night, just because his common sense had fled and left an idiot in charge), that finally convinced him he was really in trouble, over everything else.

* * * 

The next morning, safely behind his habitual newspaper, and only popping his head out every now and then to make euphemistic-stroke-sarcastic comments timed to make Gojyo choke on his breakfast, Sanzo came to a decision: he'd carry on the same way as ever. He had a job to do, and he was damned well going to do it.

It was only when Sanzo looked out over his paper and caught Goku's eye – wide, warm and golden – that he remembered, uncomfortably, that whenever Goku really wanted something, he always gave in to him, despite himself.

He prayed, for the sake of his sanity, that he'd never have to find out if it worked the other way around.

* * * 

"Sanzo's actin' weird," Goku said, forcing himself to speak the words aloud, rather than keep them hanging about in his head where they'd been buzzing around and making a nuisance of themselves. It felt disloyal, but he couldn't talk to Sanzo about this; Sanzo was bound to clam up . . . or clam up and hit him with the fan. Then Goku'd be back to square one: feeling anxious and not knowing what to do about it.

Hakkai paused in the act of checking his shopping list. "He's always a little strange, Goku, don't you think?"

There was logic there, Goku had to admit. "Yeah, okay. Stranger than usual then."

"Ah," Hakkai said, looking back at the list again. "Perhaps a touch."

This was not, Goku thought, a very helpful conversation so far. He had to hurry it up, or soon Gojyo would be back, and he didn't want to talk to _him_ about this. The pervy kappa would be bound to treat it as some huge joke, probably telling Sanzo what he'd asked and making everything waaaaay worse. "I dunno what's the matter with him," Goku said, feeling kind of wretched. "Did I do something wrong again?" he added quickly, before his nerve failed him.

Hakkai folded up the shopping list and stuck it in a pocket. Then he turned and examined Goku – which made him feel nervous. "Well, did I?" Goku asked. "'Cause if I did, then at least I can make it up to him. Maybe I could—"

Hakkai frowned. "You do know that _Sanzo_ gets things wrong sometimes, don't you?" he interrupted.

Goku thought about that. "Yeah, because sometimes he says that I can't _possibly_ be hungry, but I so _am_, and . . ." He trailed off at the look on Hakkai's face – sort of sad and perplexed all at once.

"I don't mean he gets things like that wrong," Hakkai said quietly. "I mean about . . . Well, I suppose I mean important things."

What did Hakkai mean by important things, Goku wondered. There was only one that was important to Sanzo right now: the journey west. Nothing made him madder than delays, and for a good long while Goku hadn't really got _why_ that was. To Goku, his important things had been the obvious ones: food and Sanzo. Though he'd have – not exactly happily, but he _would_ have – given up food again, as long as he had Sanzo. And he'd thought, although he would have found it difficult to explain why, that Gojyo's most important thing was Hakkai, and Hakkai's, Gojyo.

But the journey so far had taught him a lot of stuff. Not everything he'd learned had made him happy, but the world made more sense with each passing day – and, best of all, _Sanzo_ made more sense to him. Goku thought that was all kinds of wonderful, that he could learn stuff about Sanzo without being told, 'cause he figured that Sanzo was never going to suddenly become the sort of person who opened up and really talked about himself. But that was okay, because when Goku thought about being in the cage for all that time, and how it had felt, he found there was stuff that _he_ didn't really want to talk about either.

It felt good, too, to have figured out some stuff about the journey. That Sanzo wasn't going just because he'd been ordered to – though Goku thought, in hindsight, he shoulda worked _that_ out before they'd even set off, 'cause Sanzo never did anything he didn't genuinely want to – and that the reason he got mad whenever they were slowed down wasn't _just_ because every day on the road meant a day longer before they got back to Chang'an. Sanzo was going because he valued the same things Goku did: not being alone. Having friends and family. Having a _choice_ about stuff. 'Course, Sanzo would probably put it more like: the youkai deserve the same chance as everyone else to fuck up their lives for themselves, not have it done for them. But it all boiled down to the same thing: Sanzo was _awesome_.

"Nah," Goku said. "Sanzo's never wrong about the important stuff."

Of course, Goku thought, there was that time when Sanzo had _stopped_ going on the journey, really, to chase after the scary dude. Goku's memory was a bit patchy about what exactly had happened, but Gojyo had filled in some of the blanks, and Goku remembered enough to know that it was a really, really bad idea to piss Hakkai off.

Had Sanzo really got sidetracked from the journey because of him? The thought made Goku feel kind of warm and happy; while Goku thought it was pretty obvious that Sanzo was _his_ most important person, it wasn't often that Sanzo showed that the opposite was true as well. Not that Goku doubted it. Much.

Hakkai regarded him for so long that Goku began to feel a bit uncomfortable. "Is that so," Hakkai said finally.

It wasn't a question, Goku didn't think, and it gave him a weird feeling. Obviously _Hakkai_ thought Sanzo was wrong about some important stuff, and Goku trusted Hakkai to tell him the truth, more than he trusted Sanzo sometimes. Trust wasn't the same as blind faith, even _he_ knew that. So, even though it gave him the heebie-jeebies, he asked, "Whaddya think he's wrong about?" And then his certainty that Sanzo _wasn't_ wrong took over. "If he's wrong about somethin'," he said, feeling more cheerful, "then he doesn't mean to be, and it can't be anything _bad_."

Hakkai blinked a bit and reached up to fiddle with his eyeglass. When he spoke, his tone was kind. _Too kind_. Kind enough to make Goku feel nervous all over again. "I wonder if Sanzo is feeling a little out of sorts," he said, "because you're growing up, Goku. I'm merely speculating, you understand, but I wonder if the time you two spent apart made him wonder what it will be like when you eventually strike out on your own."

Strike out on his . . .?

On his _own_?

_Does Sanzo want to get rid of me?_ Goku wanted to ask, but his lips wouldn't cooperate. It was like everything in his body had frozen, shut down. It was his absolute worst fear; _nothing_ could get him panicked and anxious like the idea of being without Sanzo. The thought was even worse than the idea of some malevolent being putting him back in the cage. If he ended up trapped, alone . . . It would be unbearable, but at least if it happened he'd still have hope. Sanzo wouldn't leave him there forever; as soon as Goku's pleading irritated him enough, he'd find him and let him out.

But what would he do if Sanzo didn't _want_ to come get him?

_What would he do without Sanzo?_

There was a sound like water rushing in his ears, and although he could hear Hakkai's concerned voice – somewhere far away – he couldn't stop himself. And he couldn't stop the onward flood of blackness, which pulled him down and swallowed him up until he no longer knew himself any more.

 

* * * * * 

 

Right Speech

_ . . . is abstention from deliberate lies and deceit, harsh words that hurt others, and idle chatter that lacks purpose or depth._

 

When Goku woke up, he didn't remember a whole lot. He didn't think it was daytime, but he couldn't remember going to bed either. But he could hear breathing, and the room stunk of smoke, so he figured it would be wise to play dead, because he'd obviously gone and done something _really dumb_ and it would be best to remember what that was before he had to face Sanzo and explain himself.

Goku thought hard, trying not to move or breathe funny, so Sanzo would still think him asleep. He could remember talking to Hakkai. He could remember asking him about Sanzo. He could remember . . .

Ohhhhh, crap. Oh _crap_.

He'd gotten so mad about something Hakkai had said that his limiter must have broken. _Again_. Sanzo was going to _kill_ him.

And then Goku remembered. Not what Hakkai had said: he could worry about that later, because it must have been something really _bad_ to make him lose control like that. But about what happened when he lost control.

Goku sat up so fast his head spun, nearly falling out of bed in his haste to get Sanzo's attention. "I didn't k–kill anyone, did I?" he asked, looking round wildly.

Sanzo was sitting by the window, an open newspaper on the table next to him. As was, Goku couldn't help but notice, a very, _very_ full ash tray. "Lie the hell back down, idiot," Sanzo growled. And then, to Goku's relief, he snorted. "As if I'd let you kill one of us. As if you _could_."

Goku lay back down with a wince, noticing that he felt dreadful – like he'd been in a fight that he'd lost really, really badly. "Sanzo?" he asked.

"Tch," Sanzo said. There was the sound of him lighting another cigarette. "What?"

"What happened?"

There was a brief silence. "You went nuts and tried to kill Hakkai," Sanzo said coolly.

"Oh."

"Luckily," Sanzo continued, "just when you were about to pull his head off, despite Gojyo's best efforts to distract you, _I_ came along, and you seemed even keener to play with me than with him." Sanzo blew a mouthful of smoke out of the window. "So I obliged. And shortly after we managed to get a limiter back on your dopey head, I carried you back here."

_I carried you back here._ Goku latched on to that bit. While it sounded like Sanzo was leaving out a lot of stuff – probably really bad stuff – at least that bit sounded okay. Like Sanzo wasn't _too_ mad at him, not deep down.

"And if either of you move too suddenly and reopen your wounds, I shall be extremely cross," came Hakkai's voice, drifting from the other side of the door, which Goku now noticed was slightly ajar.

Sanzo muttered something under his breath.

_Either of you,_ Goku thought. Now that was something that didn't sound so good. "I hurt you?"

Sanzo snorted. "I think you couldn't decide whether to crush me or tear me apart, so you tried for both. Unfortunately for you," he added sourly, "I'm tougher than I look."

Goku, feeling rather dazed, decided that getting up to check on how badly Sanzo was _really_ hurt would be a good thing to do.

"Lie back _down_," Sanzo snapped. "I'm okay. You didn't get off lightly yourself." And then, as Goku was digesting this, he continued, "What the _fuck_ did Hakkai say to you? The asshole wouldn't tell me, said I had to wait until you came round."

"Uh," Goku said, trying to think. It was still a hazy blur; he could remember the feelings – awful, horrible – but not the words. And there was only one issue that could make him feel quite that bad . . . or, rather, one person. He had a terrible feeling that whatever Hakkai had said to make him flip, it was going to be really, _really_ embarrassing. The sort of embarrassing that Sanzo would never, _ever_ forgive him for.

Sanzo glared at him. "You don't remember, do you?"

Goku shook his head miserably.

"Hakkai?" Sanzo called through teeth that were obviously gritted.

Goku watched Hakkai limp across the darkened room and tried not to watch Sanzo's face as Hakkai bent over to whisper something in his ear. He couldn't _stop_ himself though, when Sanzo half-turned, his expression incredulous, and locked him in stare that wasn't exactly menacing, but didn't bode well for the future.

But . . . as Hakkai straightened up and said, politely, "Perhaps you'll take my advice and—" two spots of colour flared, a vivid red against the creaminess of Sanzo's pale skin, high on his cheekbones.

"Don't forget to shut the door on your way out," Sanzo ground out, cutting Hakkai off.

Hakkai smiled at Goku. "Sleep well," he murmured, and Goku was surprised that that, if anything, made Sanzo's obvious discomfort even worse. Didn't stop the staring though – still mixed with the incredulous look that had Goku squirming on the inside.

Finally, Sanzo looked away. "Go back to sleep," he ordered, staring out the window. "It's the middle of the night."

What? Now _that_ wasn't fair. "No way," Goku protested. "Tell me what Hakkai said."

"No."

Goku opened his mouth to complain, but shut it again when he saw how mad Sanzo looked. But then a surprising – and completely awesome – thing happened. Sanzo rose from his chair, closing the blinds to shut the patchy moonlight out of the room, and then – wordlessly – slid into bed beside him. It was a tight fit, and Sanzo immediately turned his back on him in a way that suggested that if Goku tried to talk to him then he was _toast_, but Goku felt a warm thrill run through him, right down to the tips to his toes; Sanzo _never_ willingly shared a bed with him. Often, if Goku dared to slip in with him, he'd wake with a start, on his ass next to the bed, rather than still in it. Right now, he didn't quite dare to put his arm around Sanzo – Sanzo still had most of his clothes on, although Goku could see the neat folds of the Maten sutra on the nightstand, and that meant the fan might be close to hand as well – but Sanzo was warm and solid beside him, and he smelled of all the things that made Sanzo smell like Sanzo: stale smoke and sweat and soap.

It was enough that, just as he was drifting off, when Goku finally remembered – though it had a hazy, unreal quality now – what Hakkai had said that had troubled him so much, it didn't seem so likely after all. Hakkai had to be wrong; if Sanzo wanted him to go away, then he'd just say so, wouldn't he? Sanzo might not be great at saying some stuff, but he didn't exactly hold back when it came to letting people know he didn't like 'em. "I don't wanna leave you," he mumbled, staring at the back of Sanzo's neck through the darkness. "I don't have to, do I?"

The silence stretched out. Goku wondered if Sanzo had fallen asleep, even though he was breathin' pretty fast. Maybe he was having some kind of energetic dream.

"You don't _want_ me to, do ya?" he finally mumbled, just in case Sanzo _was_ still awake. He didn't think it was true, and it wasn't the sort of question that Sanzo would usually answer . . . but it had been a really weird day, and he couldn't help himself.

Sanzo said, very shortly, "No."

"Sanzo?" Goku said, feeling all sorts of good things inside and wanting to say them out loud, "I'm—"

"Shut the hell up and go to sleep."

Goku closed his mouth, thinking that he'd better obey; Sanzo sounded like he was strung so tight he might snap, and considering how good _he_ was feeling right now, it didn't seem right to make Sanzo any angrier than he evidently was. So he relaxed, leaned in against Sanzo's back, and soon fell asleep.

* * * 

"Did you talk to Goku?" Hakkai said, and then twisted, nimbly, releasing a blast of chi at the youkai rushing towards him.

Sanzo shot the youkai on his left between the eyes, then did the same to the three who rose up to take his place. "Tch," he said, stretching his arm and then lowering it to take careful aim at the next wave of attackers. "You think _now_ is a good time for a chat about that?"

Hakkai quickly raised a chi barrier while Sanzo reloaded. "I've been trying to talk to you about it for the past few days," he said mildly, his arms visibly shaking from the effort. It had been a long – and boring – fight so far, and the youkai had fronted so pathetic an attack that Sanzo thought – irritated – that it didn't seem worth the effort they were expending to repel it. "But you haven't seemed very keen on my company."

Sanzo ignored this, turning his back on Hakkai and attempting to focus on the fight, and the fight alone.

"See?" Hakkai said, after the next wave of youkai lay dead around them. He wiped his brow, and Sanzo wished he would shut the fuck up. "So, did you talk to Goku? If you don't make things clear to him, then he might release his Seiten Taisei form again the next time he misunderstands his, ah, position in your life."

Sanzo shuddered. The only way they'd been able to restrain Goku was all together, all at once, and all out – and they'd barely managed to do it, even then. And if the gods hadn't seen fit to restore Goku's diadem . . .

Sanzo looked over at Hakkai – mild-mannered, polite and pernickety – and felt his skin crawl, remembering the violence and insanity of his released form. Even _that_, in combination with the full force of the Maten sutra and Gojyo's non-magical but not inconsiderable strength, had barely been enough to hold Goku down for even a moment.

If he never had to go through that again, it would be too soon.

Sanzo looked over to where Goku and Gojyo were working together, on the other side of the road where they'd been ambushed. A pile of corpses lay between them – as did Jeep, making unhappy _kyuuu_ noises every now and then and revving his engine suggestively. "He understands," Sanzo said shortly.

"Oh?" Hakkai said, following his gaze. "So what _is_ –" he ducked as Sanzo fired a volley directly where his head had been, wiping out several more youkai – "his position in your life? I've been wondering for a while now."

Sanzo glared at him. Unfortunately, Hakkai was the only one of his three companions who seemed immune to his glares. "Pest," he said, firing more bullets. "Irritant. Drain on my expenses."

Hakkai laughed politely. "Perhaps we should consider our strategy for restraining the Great Sage the next time he appears," he said as he efficiently dispatched several more youkai, "if that is how you also expressed things to _him_. Oh, it appears we have come to the end of our battle," he added, cutting off Sanzo in mid curse, when no further youkai were apparent.

"You may have slain my companions, but you'll never beat _me_!" a particularly large and ugly youkai male yelled, leaping out from behind a tree. "I'm going to take your sutra and—"

Sanzo shot him in the head.

"Ah, _now_ we are finished," Hakkai said. And as Goku bounded over, followed by Gojyo at a more leisurely pace, he added, "Perhaps, for all our sakes, you—"

Sanzo gave him a look that felt, even to him, a particularly murderous one, and Hakkai didn't complete the sentence. He didn't look intimidated though, and Sanzo thought Hakkai had only shut up because he knew that he'd got the point.

"Man, I'm hungry," Goku said, stretching widely. "That fight really _sucked_. Is it lunchtime already?"

Sanzo applied a little encouragement with his fan. "Do you see any restaurants on this roadside, shit for brains?"

"What Sanzo means," Hakkai said encouragingly, "is that the sooner we're back on the road, the sooner we can find somewhere to eat."

Sanzo was unsurprised when – already picking his way over the pile of bodies in Jeep's direction – Goku zoomed past him and vaulted into the back seat. "Come on, slowpokes!" Goku called. "Let's get _goin'_ already."

Sanzo thought, rather sourly, as he climbed into his usual seat, Jeep's metal burning hot under his skin and stinking of nervous dragon sweat – it was more difficult to think of Jeep as being alive when he was car-shaped rather than dragon-shaped, but when he got anxious it became distressingly obvious – that Goku had it easy. If he ever had something on his mind, he just came right out and said it – as if those hundreds of years of solitude had left him without a brain to mouth filter. It was as annoying as hell, most of the time, but right now Sanzo couldn't help but envy him. Hakkai – damn him – was right. If Goku released his powers again – became the Great Sage Equalling Heaven once more – there was no guarantee that any of them would get out of it alive. Compared to that, just _talking_ to him should be child's play.

Sanzo jammed himself against Jeep's door – the mountain road they were travelling on was stony, and each bump threatened to decant him from the car – and dug his fingers hard into his thigh. As far as he was concerned, silence was golden; he'd always thought that idle chatter was for idiots, and if something important needed spelling out . . . well, then it wasn't worth his time explaining it, because he was obviously being confronted _by_ an idiot. He wasn't an idiot himself though . . . yet he had no fucking clue what Goku was thinking, what he wanted, other than in the most general of terms.

This situation was not, all in all, the most convenient or pleasant of ways in which to discover that he'd been wrong.

Sanzo bit back a curse as Jeep bounced and he slammed up and down in his seat, before inquiring, politely, of Hakkai, whether he really knew how to drive, or if he needed showing?

Hakkai – presumably remembering Sanzo's infrequent stretches at the wheel, and the love he felt for the accelerator – attempted to get the car back under some semblance of control, and Sanzo, knuckles white, bitterly reflected it was probably a little late for him to learn the finer arts of conversation.

Even though he suspected he'd never needed them more than he did right now.

* * * 

The rest of the day turned out to be more famine than feast, however. After the attack, it hadn't been long before they'd come across a town . . . but it had been strangely quiet.

It hadn't taken them long to find out why – though, Sanzo thought, judging by the sheer numbers of youkai that had attacked them earlier that day, with a force that had evidently owed more to insane hunger and fury than to common sense, they should have thought of it earlier. Usually the youkai came _after_ them – they didn't hang about in huge groups, on the off chance that the Sanzo party would stop by.

Judging by the smell – the most pleasant of which came from the rotting food – it had been a while since anyone human had been alive in there; unfortunately, the human didn't cover flies – or maggots – though.

The journey onwards that afternoon had been unusually quiet; even Goku had sat still in the back seat, rather than conducing his usual contortions as he fidgeted and fought with Gojyo. And in the evening, when the light faded and they hadn't seen any signs of civilisation other than untended, dry fields full of withering crops, no one complained when Hakkai announced that Jeep was tired and here was as good a spot as any to camp out for the night.

Tired Jeep meant hard ground, and even the thought that Hakkai surely wouldn't force him to have a 'heart-to-heart' with Goku under such circumstances didn't cheer Sanzo up.

"Today's really _blown_," Goku said Hakkai handed out a modest ration of tinned food. He'd scarfed it down before Sanzo had even had time to peer, suspiciously, at the can in his hand.

"I'm sorry, Goku, but I can't spare any more – we'd better keep the rest for the next few days, just in case," Hakkai said pre-emptively, moving to join the rest of them on the ground.

Goku subsided, bringing his knees up to his chest and leaning his chin on his folded arms. He needed a haircut, Sanzo thought, watching as the setting sun threw shimmers of light through the long, messy strands of Goku's hair and glinted off the almost-hidden diadem on his head. And felt an unaccustomed longing in his gut – so strong he felt almost sick with it.

Later, as they lay sprawled in an untidy circle around a slow-burning fire, Sanzo found he didn't mind so much when Goku and Gojyo started talking their usual shit, with Hakkai – immersed in a book – only chiming in every now and then.

"Hey, Goku," Gojyo said, "if you knew you were about to kick the bucket, and you could only have one more meal, what'd it be?"

Goku made a noise of such bereavement that even Sanzo nearly laughed. "I don't knoooooow," he said. "What about you?"

"Me?" Gojyo sounded taken aback, as if he hadn't expected to be asked – he'd probably only thought as far as tormenting Goku by making him imagine all the food he couldn't eat right now, Sanzo thought wryly. "Who wants food before a fight to the death? I'd just want a pack of cigarettes – so I could smoke 'em, and so I could flick ash in my opponent's eye on my way out," he said eventually. Sanzo could almost hear him smirking. Cocky idiot.

"Hakkai, how about you?" Goku asked.

"Ah," Hakkai said, flipping a page and looking up briefly. "Gojyo, I think."

Sanzo snorted. Gojyo, indeed. To think he'd thought the _kappa_ was the one with the filthy mind. Mildly amused, he craned his neck to see that Gojyo had gone the colour of a beetroot. "If you go any redder, moron, you'll explode," he said, helpfully.

"Fuck you, Cherry-chan."

"Likewise, pervert."

"Um," Goku said.

Sanzo looked over to him; Goku seemed puzzled and was looking between Hakkai and Gojyo as if he was working something out. Sanzo almost hoped he wouldn't catch on, if only for the pleasure that watching Gojyo and Hakkai explain their 'relationship' would bring him. "If you don't get it, Gojyo will gladly fill you in," he said coolly, just to be sure. "He _is_ our self-proclaimed resident expert on the ways of love – aren't you, Gojyo?"

Gojyo now went so red that he was almost redder than his hair. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, Sanzo was amused to notice, realising that he'd finally found a foolproof way to get him to shut up.

But then Goku said, "Duh, I know about _that_ stuff," and turned to look at him. It was a curiously indecipherable look from someone so easily readable, Sanzo thought, suddenly feeling much less amused. "Hakkai gave me a book. But—"

"He . . . What?" Sanzo said incredulously.

"Well, you did entrust me with a little of Goku's education," Hakkai murmured, eyes down on his own reading material. "Education is not all about mathematics and history, Sanzo. Human biology and sexuality is an important—"

"—if Hakkai and Gojyo can do that stuff together, why can't you and—"

Both Hakkai and Gojyo, evidently guided by an instinct born from self-preservation, simultaneously decided that the end of this sentence wasn't one that it would be healthy for either of them to hear. Gojyo tried violence, leaping for Goku and smothering his mouth with both hands. Hakkai went for the inspired tactic of suddenly – and loudly – remembering a bag of provisions.

Neither worked to Sanzo's satisfaction. First, because Gojyo and Hakkai evidently didn't have to hear the words to know exactly what Goku had been going to say, and while he would like to kill them both, it just wasn't practical right now. But second – and most important – because he knew that such acts were useless. They might work temporarily, but nothing could stop the monkey once he was set on something. Not even Sanzo.

Sanzo took aim and fired.

The silence – and the frozen terror on Gojyo and Goku's faces – was less pleasing than usual.

"It's time for bed," he said, in a tone that brooked no disobedience. "And if I hear even a suggestion of heavy breathing from any of you perverts, it will go very ill with you." And with that, he angled his body as far away from Goku as he could and shut his eyes.

"Goodnight all," Hakkai murmured pleasantly.

It took everything Sanzo had not to rise up and slay him.

 

* * * * * 

 

Right Intention

_ . . . is the intention of renunciation, which means resistance to the pull of desire._

 

"Good morning, Goku," Hakkai said, very quietly, when he woke the next morning and saw that Goku was sat up – awake and very quiet – his head on his knees and a very pensive expression on what Hakkai could see of his face.

"Mornin'," Goku mumbled, not turning towards him. He was, Hakkai realised, gazing at Sanzo's sleeping form. He wondered how long he'd been awake; not all night, he hoped, feeling anxious for him.

Of course, such things were only to be expected, Hakkai reflected; Goku was still young, even if he was no longer a teenager, and first love was always the hardest. Not that it necessarily followed that, because it was _first_ love, it couldn't be _last_ love as well. Hakkai suspected that, rather like himself, Goku was the faithful sort . . . possibly in the same, rather terrifying, all-consuming way as himself.

It crossed his mind to feel a touch sorry for Sanzo.

Sanzo made a very pretty sight when he was asleep, Hakkai thought. _Much_ prettier than when he was awake, when his beauty – both inner and outer – was deftly, and habitually, concealed by means of a grumpy demeanour and habitual pissed-off attitude.

Hakkai looked over at Gojyo – who was snoring, open-mouthed, his long hair a tangled mess – and smiled. He thought that Sanzo would realise, eventually, that being with someone more open about their wounds – more open to life – was not such an irritating thing as you might think, once you got used to it.

Still, he thought, feeling a touch of concern, compared to Sanzo, he'd been an open book. "Goku? Are you still worried about Sanzo?" he asked, very low.

Goku considered this, not taking his eyes off Sanzo's face. "Nah," he said. "Not really. Well . . ." He paused. "I'm worried about how mad he's gonna be at me when he wakes up." He tilted his head and looked over at Hakkai. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why'd'ya say that stuff to me before? It got me so crazy that I didn't know what to do with myself."

"Ah," Hakkai said. He'd been shocked by how badly he'd been misunderstood; Goku wasn't stupid, even though Hakkai sometimes thought that the others treated him as rather more slow on the uptake than he actually was. He was loving, trusting . . . and evidently feeling rather more sensitive and unsure about his position in Sanzo's heart than any of them had realised.

Perhaps more sensitive and unsure than even Goku _himself_ had realised.

Goodness, even Gojyo thought that it was inevitable that, once he got a little older and a little more sure of himself, Goku would eventually wear down Sanzo's defences and they'd end up . . . Well, Gojyo had put it rather more coarsely than was to Hakkai's tastes, accompanied by a very dirty laugh, but it all came down to the same thing in the end, it being a certainty that neither Sanzo nor Goku were the sort to separate the physical aspects of love from the emotional.

"Hakkai?"

"I explained myself badly," Hakkai said, feeling for the right words. "Let us say that, in the future, Sanzo wished to marry a girl. Would you stop him?"

A muscle jumped in Goku's cheek. He said nothing, but he shook his head once, sharply, staring down at the ground.

"Even if it made you hurt so badly that it felt like nothing would ever be all right again?"

Goku looked up at that, his eyes very fierce. "I . . ." Then his head dropped back down. "No," he said, very miserably. "I just want him to be happy."

"I think," Hakkai said quietly, "that Sanzo has been wondering what he will feel like when _you_ fall in love with someone and decide to leave his company. And that is why, in my opinion, he has been so unbearable to live with for the past weeks."

"But . . ." Goku began. He paused, glancing over at Sanzo with a truly puzzled expression. And then looked back at Hakkai, a smile of such sweet, unalloyed, unashamed joy suddenly stretching his features that Hakkai felt quite touched. "Awesome," he breathed. "He thinks . . . He wants . . . Oh, _wow_."

Goku was _definitely_ not as slow on the uptake as some others might think, Hakkai reflected, wryly.

After a moment, Goku – still beaming – asked, "How come you never told me about you and Gojyo?"

Hakkai considered that. He'd worried, when everything had been fresh and dazzling and – at times – oh-so-_awkward_, whether discovery by Sanzo would have been too much for Gojyo's nerve. Would have ruined their friendship, along with everything else. And had discovered, blissfully – when the inevitable had happened, that night when Sanzo had overheard them – that perhaps _he_ wasn't always as quick on the uptake where his own personal feelings were involved. Sometimes it was most heartening to be proved wrong.

Hakkai hid a smile. Gojyo's deep, burning embarrassment had not, as he'd expected, had a dampening effect on his ardour; indeed, rather the opposite. Still, he suspected that if Sanzo had to face another scene like the previous evening – when Goku had all but asked him, in front of them all, why they couldn't take their friendship to its (inevitable) physical conclusion – he might just decide that travelling by himself was more bearable than what he'd see as public humiliation of the worst kind. So he asked, "Do you think that if Sanzo welcomed you into his bed that that would change things between you?"

Goku blushed, shooting a quick look over to Sanzo – who still appeared to be asleep, although Hakkai honestly had no idea if that were true or not. Sanzo had proved himself to be a very light sleeper over the course of the journey, though, so Hakkai had his suspicions. "Nah," Goku said, hugging his knees. "I don't think I could love him any more than I do now, you know?"

Hakkai blinked at Goku's easy honesty and smiled at him. "Exactly. If things between two people are the same – apart, perhaps, from sleeping arrangements – then there is no real need to mention it," he said firmly.

Goku processed this in silence. Then he grinned. "Cool! Thanks, Hakkai," he said, and then, to Hakkai's horror and amusement mixed, he got up, stretched, and bounded over to where Sanzo lay, dropping to the ground beside him and all but snuggling up to him. "Hey, Sanzo, wake up!" he said, prodding him in the side. "I'm hungry!"

Sanzo – his cheeks a healthy pink colour – cracked open an eyelid and whacked him round the head with one hand. "It's the middle of the night," he said – inaccurately. "Leave me the fuck alone!"

"Aww, but Sanzoooo—" Goku replied, launching into a detailed explanation of exactly why he deserved to eat his breakfast right now, and how it was cruel and unfair of Sanzo to keep him from his nourishment.

Hakkai smiled as he watched them and hoped that Sanzo would allow himself to give in sooner rather than later, for Goku's sake – for _both_ their sakes.

* * * 

Just because you wanted something, it didn't make it right.

Sanzo didn't give a fuck that Goku wasn't exactly human. He didn't give a fuck that he was, in some ways, disarmingly unworldly – he wasn't a child any more, and being stuck on some mountain for five-hundred years didn't give _anyone_ a get out of jail free card when it came to having brains and using them. These weren't reasons for him to treat the monkey as anything other than an adult. But . . .

Frankly, Sanzo despaired.

Even though he thought that, in all honesty, he didn't even particularly give a fuck that once they'd crossed that line, there was no going back – things happened the way they happened. Sometimes you just had to take a deep breath and let yourself be blown by the wind, even if you did end up smacking face-first into a tree and breaking your face in two . . .

And even though his logical brain told him that, to put it bluntly, if Goku was dopey enough to want to spend the rest of his life with _him_, of all people, then he deserved all he got . . .

That didn't change a fucking thing.

_Just because you wanted something, it didn't make it right._

He couldn't explain why, precisely. But wanting to keep hold of someone so much – he, who was trying to live each day as it came, never letting earthly attachments cloud his purpose or get in his way – was just plain wrong. No amount of 'it'll be okay because it's all his fault anyway' could make up for his conviction that all his excuses, all the reasons why he should just let go and go with what Goku was no doubt freely offering, were just so much bull.

And, if Sanzo was honest with himself, even if he _hadn't_ thought it wrong, even if all his logic had flown out of the window, that didn't take away the fact that _nothing, in the history of the world, could possibly be more embarrassing than wanting to get frisky with the stupid monkey._

In fact, Sanzo had no doubts that the only thing that could come even _close_ to being as embarrassing would be having to look at Hakkai and Gojyo's faces, the morning after, and knowing that _they_ knew exactly what he and Goku had been up to.

Sanzo had a horror of being made to look ridiculous . . . and he knew, uncomfortably, that – that _sex_ with Goku would make him feel ridiculous. Fuck's sake, Goku would probably treat him like an enormous meatbun. An enormous _virgin_ meatbun.

It was too pathetic, and too embarrassing, to be borne.

Even though he wanted. Oh _gods_ how he wanted.

To let himself relax, to stop thinking and thinking and over-thinking things. To just shut his eyes and let himself _enjoy_ himself for once – to enjoy someone who was a pain, and a burden, and an annoyance, and someone he never, never, never wanted to let go.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ monkey.

"WE'RE GOING TO KILL THE LOT OF YOU!"

"And take the sutra!"

"And eat your priest!"

It was a welcome – if annoyingly stereotypical – interruption. Sanzo shook his thoughts away and focused on their assailants, glad to be distracted from his buzzing thoughts for at least the present.

All too soon, however, the fight was over and they were back in Jeep, back on the road. Back to close confinement with three morons and with the necessity of dealing with Goku growing ever closer.

Sanzo had woken up that morning to overhear Hakkai and Goku talking. He hadn't caught _much_ of their conversation, but the topic under discussion had been fairly obvious. Goku had sounded happier than was good for Sanzo's nerves; Sanzo prayed, silently, that they didn't come across a hotel with private rooms in the next . . . in the next _forever_.

Because despite his reasons, despite his feelings – despite _everything_ – Sanzo had no great faith that if Goku pushed, he wouldn't fall, and do so willingly.

 

* * * * * 

 

Right Action

_ . . . is abstention from harming sentient beings, taking what is not given, and sexual misconduct._

 

Four weeks later, they were so close to their destination that Sanzo could almost taste it. On the horizon, Houtou Palace loomed, casting a shadow over the thick, tangled rainforest and the scattered villages beneath it. Whenever Sanzo looked up, he saw the end of the journey – and the start of a new journey, if they made it out alive, _all the fucking way back home_.

It was not a thought that inspired him with great enthusiasm.

The situation with Goku had been less pressing over the weeks than Sanzo had anticipated, which was at least one weight off his mind. Goku was the same overenthusiastic, bottomless pit as ever; and while Gojyo had smirked a bit more than usual at first, that had stopped once Sanzo had pointed a gun at his head and threatened to blow it off – and all but meant it.

Things had been harder, too – a lack of food, of facilities, of comforts and luxuries, had left them all short-tempered. Which was lucky, really, given how many times they were attacked each day by suicidal hordes of useless youkai. The attacks were no less pathetic and weak, but the constant nature of them made sustained periods of sleep all but impossible.

Which was why, when they came across an abandoned residence, hidden in a stretch of forest that had been the bane of their existence for the past few days, given that a lack of road had made walking a necessity, that was moderately clean and – joys – had a still-functioning bathroom, Sanzo's feeling of relief was disproportionately immense.

And which was why, when he woke in the darkness in his single room to find Goku lying next to him, his hand – fluttering and tentative – up against his chest, and his eyes glinting in the darkness – not pushing, not forcing, just _wanting_ – he found his self-control had entirely deserted him, along with all the reasons why he shouldn't give his monkey what he wanted.

It only took a few strokes before Goku was shuddering and Sanzo's hand was wet. And when Goku's own hand, warm and calloused, wrapped itself around Sanzo's own cock, it wasn't much longer before the coil of heat in his stomach tightened and snapped, leaving him panting, sated . . .

And knowing – deep in his gut – that he shouldn't have done it. He _shouldn't have done it_.

* * * 

When Goku woke up, he felt kind of cheated. He'd fallen asleep thinking that he couldn't _wait_ for it to be morning, so he could do that with Sanzo all over again – he'd wanted to do it again right away, but he'd been so sleepy he hadn't been able to keep his eyes open. But he woke to an empty bed, and when he looked up to see Sanzo sitting in a chair across the room, fully dressed and with newspaper in hand, he thought that he'd probably have to wait until tonight. Unless . . . Unless Sanzo was mad at him. He hoped not, but Sanzo was kinda weird about some stuff. He wasn't very good at enjoying himself, and Goku thought that what they'd done last night – oh _man_ that had felt good, even if it hadn't lasted very long – had been so much fun that Sanzo was bound to be a bit pissy about it, just because that was how Sanzo was.

"Mornin'!" he said, bounding out of bed and thinking he'd try his luck.

Sanzo didn't turn. "Put your clothes on, idiot."

Goku grinned and felt his face get hot. He supposed that being naked in front of Sanzo had a kind of different meaning now; it wasn't just like getting undressed to have a bath. He wondered what Sanzo looked like naked and felt his face get even hotter. He'd _touched_ Sanzo . . . down there. And Sanzo had _liked_ it, if the way he'd been breathin' had been any indication.

It was _so awesome_.

"Hey, Sanzo, can we—"

"No," Sanzo said, turning the page. "And if you ask again, I'll shoot you in the head."

Goku put his clothes on. He was far too happy to complain.

* * * 

"Jeep's sick," Hakkai said.

Of all the things that Sanzo had expected to hear that morning, that was certainly not one of them. "Tch," he said, trying not to ask if the little dragon was actually sick, or if Hakkai was making it up to piss Sanzo off.

One look at Hakkai's face – he was biting his lip and his brow was one big furrow – told him the truth of the matter.

In a way, it was good – because Hakkai was too distracted to give him any bland, knowing looks, and Gojyo was evidently too worried about Hakkai to run his mouth off. But to Sanzo's intense irritation, he found he would much rather have been embarrassed. And not just, he thought, because a sick Jeep meant another fucking delay to the journey.

"I think we'll need to stay here for a day or two," Hakkai continued. "If Jeep gets worse, then once we're out of the rainforest we'll have to continue on foot. I'm not so sure that would be a good idea; we're too close to Houtou Palace for comfort."

Of course they had to stay there for a couple of days, Sanzo thought bitterly. Of course they did. There was a wearying inevitability about the whole situation. He sighed and lit up. Life kept giving him shit – but he'd just have to keep shoveling. What else could he do?

* * * 

There were candles – because when Sanzo decided to do something, he did it with his eyes fucking wide open. The soft lights flickered in the breeze that came in through the netted window and cast long shadows on the wall.

"Oh, Sanzo. Sanzo. _Sanzo_."

It wasn't as irritating as he'd expected, the way that Goku went on and on and on, chanting his name and making ridiculous noises, even though Sanzo had barely touched him yet. After all, this was Goku. If the monkey wasn't making a racket, Sanzo would have thought that something was wrong; it added a normality to what was a fucking ridiculous situation.

Didn't stop him from tugging off his clothes as fast as he could though, Goku pawing at him in a manner that made his hands shake and his fingers fumble when he was down to his jeans. "Take off your own clothes, idiot," he snapped, shucking off his pants.

When he turned his attention back to Goku, he was naked and stretched out, his face flaming, but making no attempt to cover himself up. "Sanzo," Goku said. "Please please please please _please_."

There was no room in Sanzo's brain for second thoughts. No room for _first_ thoughts. Just desire – hot, burning desire.

Sanzo reached, blindly, for the pot on the nightstand and slicked himself up. There was a moment – just a moment – when he thought he could stop himself, could put a halt to this.

But then Goku spread his legs, almost helplessly, reached up to pull Sanzo down towards him . . . and Sanzo was lost. He positioned himself and pushed in, as slowly as he could.

Goku was tight – tight and hot. Sanzo wanted to pump his hips hard, helplessly. But he tried to hold back. "Okay?" he ground out through clenched teeth.

Goku made a noise that was nearly a sob – sort of piteous – and grabbed Sanzo's hair so tight it hurt. "More," he managed, almost incoherent, and pulled Sanzo down to kiss him.

The feel of Goku's mouth on his. The _noises_ he was making. The way his muscles clenched, uncontrollably, around Sanzo's cock . . .

Sanzo couldn't stop himself. He thrust his hips, sinking all the way into Goku's ass, and again and again and again.

"_Sanzo_," Goku breathed, into Sanzo's mouth, and then he was pushing his hips up to meet Sanzo. Pushing his tongue against Sanzo's.

Sanzo hadn't even touched Goku's cock, but soon he felt it spurt, wet, between their bodies. Felt Goku's muscles clench _hard_ around him. And came, his whole body shaking, falling on to Goku when his arms gave out entirely.

After they'd finished, and Sanzo had cleaned himself up, he turned his back on Goku and waited to be bombarded by questions he didn't want to, and didn't know how to, answer.

To his surprise, they didn't arrive. Goku didn't shut up – Sanzo thought he was pretty incapable of that – but his words were more a stream of happiness.

To Sanzo's even greater surprise, he found he liked it. The guilt was there – strong and sharp – but Goku's obvious pleasure made it more bitter-sweet than Sanzo thought it should have been. And when he'd had enough of Goku's noise, and told him firmly to shut up, Goku did so without complaints – settling for just throwing an arm around Sanzo's waist and quickly falling asleep.

Sanzo waited until he was sure Goku wouldn't be disturbed and slid free, spending the rest of the night awake, cigarette in hand, staring over at the sleeping monkey. At _his_ sleeping monkey.

And thought once more – now it was too late to do anything about it – that just because you wanted something, even if you wanted it so bad it hurt, it didn't make it right.

* * * 

It pissed Sanzo off that after months and months of travelling, stopping the resurrection took just under a day. Not that he wanted it to have lasted longer, of course. It was just another of life's inevitable irritations, that they'd come so far, only to wind up spectators in a particularly boring act of mutual self-destruction.

Turned out that Gyumaoh, once revived, was still as badass as his reputation had suggested – and still as hungry for human flesh as ever. But, luckily for Sanzo, it also turned out that he had no sense of loyalty, either, and decided that a good first meal would be a Sanzo priest – _Ukoku_ Sanzo.

The fight had destroyed most of the castle, including the evil minus wave machine – and, in the end, both of its participants. There was a sweet sort of irony there, Sanzo thought. As for Kougaiji and co., he'd decided a long time ago that if they kept out of his way, he wouldn't go out of _his_ way to chase them down and exact punishment. Kougaiji had his mother back; Sanzo had completed his mission. As far as he was concerned, Kougaiji wasn't his problem any more.

What _was_ his problem, however, was the same old problem as ever: the stupid monkey. Goku didn't even give Sanzo a good reason to be annoyed at him – which made things even worse. He didn't embarrass him in front of Gojyo and Hakkai; he didn't give any indication at all that things were the slightest bit different between them, in public. He made himself available, but he didn't push his luck, and he didn't make an annoyance of himself. He never said no, when Sanzo reached a point when he just couldn't hold back any more. He was always enthusiastic, always eager, even though Sanzo never prolonged their intimacy longer than was absolutely necessary.

He always sounded as if he couldn't get enough of Sanzo, no matter how unsatisfying he must – he _must_, Sanzo thought, shoving down his guilt – sometimes find their liaisons.

He always sounded as if nothing could make him happier than Sanzo.

It made Sanzo feel even guiltier, that he was giving so little and yet receiving so much – more than he deserved. But it was easier to give in, when it all got too much, and indulge himself, than it was to stop.

Until, one night, a couple of months into their journey home, something happened that threw a bucket of ice-cold water on Sanzo's libido.

Goku, warm and compliant under him, stopped his usual babble of nonsense. Caught Sanzo's eye. And said, so goddamn earnestly that it took Sanzo's breath away, "Sanzo, I love you. I really, really do."

He looked hurt – hurt and puzzled – when Sanzo stopped dead, pulled out, and said, through a jaw clenched so tight it ached, "I can't do this. Get the hell out of my bed." But – as always – he did what he was told.

He _always_ did as he was told, when it was obvious that Sanzo really meant it. And that, Sanzo thought, made everything so much worse.

Sanzo didn't sleep much that night. Nor the next.

Nor for the nights that followed over the months that followed.

It would have been better if Goku had acted as if he'd been wronged, but he didn't. After a few unusually quiet days, he'd perked up and made it perfectly clear that he was there – waiting – for whenever Sanzo changed his mind.

_ Sanzo, I love you. I really, really do._

Sanzo couldn't change his mind though, he just couldn't. He didn't deserve that kind of adoration, and he wouldn't fucking put up with it. If he just held his nerve for long enough, Goku would get over it, and then this whole confusing, painful daydream would be over and his life back to normal.

He just had to hold on.

 

* * * * * 

 

Right Mindfulness

_ . . . is the four foundations of mindfulness: contemplation of the body, of feeling, of the state of mind, and of the phenomena._

 

"It's good to see you again," his master said and took a long puff from his pipe, smiling happily.

Sanzo felt a rush of love, so strong it nearly overwhelmed him. It was a dream – of course it was a dream – but he didn't dream about his master these days. Once the nightmares had ended, years ago, he hadn't dreamed much at all.

His master put down the pipe and picked up a tea cup. "Ah, tea," he said, still smiling.

Even dead, his master was still as idiotic as ever. "Your cup's empty," Sanzo said. "I'd get you a refill, but this is a dream."

"Oh?" his master replied. "It's empty? How do you know?"

"Because there's nothing in it," Sanzo said, reaching into his robes and finding to his relief that, even thought it was a dream, his dream came complete with cigarettes and lighter.

His master looked down at the cup with interest. "But even though it's empty, it's still a cup. How can you tell?"

Sanzo took a drag on his cigarette. "Because it's a cup."

His master smiled. "But what makes it a cup?"

Sanzo shrugged and decided to humour him. "The shape. The material."

"Ah. That's it?"

Even dead, Sanzo thought, his master was not only as idiotic as ever, but also as cryptic. "A cup's a cup."

His master's smile widened. "Indeed, circumstances have conspired to make it so. But it is still empty."

Sanzo felt his head begin to ache. This wasn't a dream – this was a mental trial. "Just spell it out, my honourable master," he said. "I haven't got all night."

His master didn't reply, just stared dreamily down into the empty cup – and Sanzo woke with a start, and a feeling of complete disorientation, wondering where the hell he was. When he remembered – they'd arrived back at the temple the previous night – he thought, gloomily, that it was a rather cryptic welcome home, all in all.

* * * 

Goku wasn't sure whether he was glad or not to be back at the temple. In some ways, it was awesome, because of the way that Sanzo's shoulders had dropped when he'd caught sight of the temple in the distance, and because of the way his brow had relaxed, for the first time in _ages_. But in other ways, it was kind of sad. Travel had been new and fresh and exciting, and he'd miss hanging out with Gojyo and Hakkai all the time.

But, all in life, life was _awesome_. They'd kicked ass on the journey and stopped the resurrection, he'd had a load of fun, along with all the crap, and – best of all – Sanzo still wanted him around.

When Sanzo had kicked him outta bed all those months ago, it had made Goku feel pretty sad and anxious for a little while. Not for himself, but for _Sanzo_. He didn't like that just telling Sanzo the truth – that he loved him – had made Sanzo act so hurt and pissy. It was weird; why would anyone get mad because someone else loved them? It wasn't as if he'd been hiding it, either. So why had sayin' it out loud made things any different? Goku just didn't _get_ it.

But once he'd figured out that Sanzo wasn't mad at him, just at himself, it had taken the sting away entirely. He was dying to get back into Sanzo's bed – man, that was _fun_ – but he didn't want it if it made Sanzo all weird and upset. As long as Sanzo was happy, Goku thought he'd be okay.

Besides, Goku had a pretty good imagination; he'd coped quite well during the return journey to Chang'an, mostly by just thinkin' up all the things he and Sanzo could do together, once Sanzo had calmed down and realised that . . . Well, Goku wasn't entirely sure what he needed to realise, but he had faith that Sanzo would come round eventually. He just needed to be patient.

Goku had spent five hundred years alone, waiting for Sanzo to come rescue him. He thought he could stand to wait a little longer.

But he did wish that Sanzo would hurry up all ready – being patient was _killing_ him.

* * * 

The weeks passed, and Sanzo spent his nights alone. He didn't like it – and Goku evidently didn't like it either, much to Sanzo's chagrin. But Goku didn't complain – thought that wasn't precisely true. He complained plenty, but about the boring food, and about how much work Sanzo had to do after his long absence, which meant that Sanzo spent all his time working and none relaxing.

Except . . . Goku mostly sat in the same room as Sanzo when he was working, staying so quiet that Sanzo could sometimes almost forget that he was there.

Almost.

And when Sanzo had a moment, he puzzled over his recurring dreams about his master and about cups. Sometimes it wasn't cups; sometimes it was vases. But always an emptiness, and a conundrum at the heart of it. It was driving him mad; but then his master had always driven him mad, much though he'd loved him. He hadn't ever _said_ what he meant – just waved his hands and did or said something so vague that sometimes it was months before Sanzo had caught on, in a blaze of enlightenment.

And then one day, sitting in his private garden with Goku, he got it.

"What's so funny?" Goku asked as Sanzo broke down into laughter that was partly hysterical. "Sanzo?"

The cup was only a cup because of all the different things that made it a cup – its existence depended entirely on external conditions. On people looking at it and knowing it was a cup, knowing its purpose. Even if it was empty.

Just as Sanzo was only Sanzo because of his memories. Because of the people he met. Because of his friends.

_Muichi motsu_ wasn't living your life free of attachments. It was the attachments that made you who you were. That gave shape to your life. You just had to be able to relax, to see past them, to be able to realise that that was the case.

The empty cup . . . Hah! Goku's very _name_ meant emptiness. 'Awakened to emptiness', in fact.

His master had always loved a terrible pun.

"Sanzo?" Goku said again. "Are you okay?"

Sanzo pulled himself together and reached for a cigarette. "I think so," he said, more honestly than usual. "You?"

Goku smiled happily. "Mmmm. Yeah." He stretched out on the grass.

"Aren't you bored here at the temple?" Sanzo asked.

Goku shook his head, eyes closed against the bright sun. "Nah."

And then, a few minutes later, Goku said, "In the cage . . . It was so lonely. I know it's been a long time since I was there, but life is just so much _better_ now. Just sittin' with you, listenin' to you breathin', makes my heart sing, you know?"

Sanzo said nothing. But that night he let Goku back into his bed and the guilt he felt lessened, just a touch. And when Goku said, with the same earnestness as before, that he loved him, Sanzo just turned him over so he didn't have to look him in the eye and carried right on.

 

* * * * * 

 

Right Concentration

_ . . . is wholesome concentration, one-pointedness of mind, where all mental faculties are unified and directed on to one particular object_

 

"Hell, you're _killing_ me," Goku complained. He squirmed under Sanzo, arching up and trying to make Sanzo move faster.

"Don't move," Sanzo ordered. He was rewarded by Goku going completely still – apart from his hands, which wound their way through Sanzo's hair and _pulled_. It hurt, a little, but it was all to the good – he didn't want to get carried away and end this too soon, after all.

As the weeks and months had ticked by, Sanzo had found that it wasn't so bad after all to take his time with Goku. It wasn't as embarrassing as he'd expected – and it soothed his conscience to know that he was doing his best to make Goku happy.

Even though sometimes he thought that, even if they didn't ever have sex again, Goku would still be happy – perfectly happy – as long as Sanzo let him stay by his side.

Somehow that knowledge also made him feel less guilty.

Besides, there was something deeply satisfying about the occasional moments when he managed to make Goku go entirely silent – when he was so overwhelmed, so turned on, that he just stared at Sanzo in a silent plea, clutching desperately at him. It wasn't often that the monkey shut up; it was pleasing to know that it was possible.

Right now, though, Goku was going on again – not that Sanzo minded.

"Oh, Sanzo, I love you so much."

Sanzo bent to kiss him. No way could he say those words out loud. Didn't mean he didn't think them though; had always thought them, really, though the love had changed and grown over the years, shifting into something that was entirely different, and yet in some ways entirely the same. But just because he couldn't _say_ the words . . .

He deepened the kiss, working his hips. Goku gasped into his mouth, then managed to pull away, for just a moment, to mutter, "Oh, _Sanzo_, wow . . . Oh _fuck_, I love you too, soooo much."

Yeah. Just because he couldn't say the words, it didn't mean that Goku didn't know.

 

* * * * * 

 

Right View

_ . . . is the beginning and end of the path; it simply means to see and to understand things as they are._

 

Sanzo prepared to leave the temple with a dreadful feeling of foreboding.

"What do you think they want?" Goku asked. "Is it another journey?"

Sanzo scowled. He hadn't been summoned by the Three Aspects for a good long time, and that was the way he liked it best. Although he'd always known that the call would come eventually; he was still missing a sutra, and he was damned if he was going to die before he'd reclaimed his rightful property, even if he had no idea where that rightful property was. "I sincerely hope not."

"It might be fun," Goku said, grinning.

"Fun?" Sanzo snorted. "Yes, like the last journey was so much fun. Endless travelling, shitty accommodation, and irritating company."

Goku laughed. "Aw, I thought it was fun. Some of it was bad, but . . ." He shrugged. "Mostly it was pretty cool."

"You _would_ say that," Sanzo said severely. "Because here, the food is vegetarian."

"I don't mind that!" Goku protested, before adding: "Well, not much."

Sanzo raised an eyebrow. "I'd much rather just stay here, at home," he said eventually.

"I don't mind either way," Goku said.

"No?"

"Nah," Goku said. He blushed, and Sanzo waited for something embarrassing to come out of his mouth. "I don't care where I am, as long as I'm with you. I guess _you're_ my home, Sanzo."

"Idiot," Sanzo said.

But he left to see the Three Aspects rather later in the day than he'd intended, and when Goku asked if he could come along too, Sanzo didn't even make his usual token protest.


End file.
